Joni Tish Book I: Code Purple Zulu

By Bob Gabbert

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Copyright

Copyright © 2017 by Bob Gabbert

All rights reserved, except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission by the publisher.

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e-Book Edition: November 2017

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

About the Book

Joni Tish is faced with what may be the greatest dilemma that any American citizen has ever faced. She works for the President of the United States, and she learns that he launders money through a Russian bank. And now he is about to commit treason by selling Top Secret information to Russia.

Should she notify the Secret Service or the FBI and set in motion a chain of events that could eventually lead to articles of impeachment? Knowing that if she sets in motion the Constitutional process that it could take months or years to complete. During that time, partisan politics could tear the country apart and lead to riots in the streets of America.

Or, should she take care of the problem herself knowing that if she is found out that it would probably end her life? Military women and men put their lives on the line for their country all the time, but is a rich woman, who moves in the highest of social circles, willing to give up everything for her country?

Table of Contents

Title Page

About the Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

About the Author

Other Novels by Bob Gabbert

Chapter 1

The Georgian style restaurant in London’s Wilton Place, Knightsbridge had the quiet elegance of a time right out of a Jane Austen novel. Men in coats and tails and women in beautiful and expensive gowns dined in hushed conversation while a string quartet played soothing music.

Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs Lord Bennington sat in one of the red upholstered booths with two other men, and Joni Tish, a young woman of 33 whose larger than normal nose seemed to make her beautiful face even more interesting.

She sat beside him wearing a floor-length gown embossed with tiny pearls that clung to her slim figure. Her short-cropped, dark-brown hair and dark-brown eyes contrasted nicely with one-quarter caret emerald earrings and an emerald chocker on her long, slim neck.

One of the men, who dined with them, was the Russian Cultural Attaché Igor Kurashiki. The other Russian had not been introduced much to the chagrin of Lord Bennington, who had invited Kurashiki to dine with him to discuss Russia’s move into the Crimea.

Lord Bennington said, Igor, someone on your side needs to tell Mr Putenkov to back off for a while.

Kurashiki said to the other man in Russian, These people should be afraid of President Putenkov. Wait until they see his next move.

Joni Tish was an undercover agent for the CIA. She was fluent in the Russian language, but Lord Bennington didn’t understand the language and Kurashiki knew it.

The silent Russian didn’t reply, but he glanced at Joni who pretended to be disinterested in what they were saying. He asked in Russian, Who is the woman?

She’s just someone the old man is screwing. Don’t worry about her. Kurashiki replied in Russian.

She followed her CIA training and didn’t react. Surreptitiously she slipped her hand into her clutch purse lying on the seat beside her and snapped a picture of the two Russians with a button camera she was wearing on her gown.

Their continuing to speak in Russian offended Lord Bennington. Do you mind? Speak English, please.

Kurashiki threw up his hands and replied in English, I’m just a lowly cultural attaché. Who am I to tell the president of Russia how to conduct foreign affairs? I do not wish to visit Penal Colony 56, he said with a laugh.

He was referring to a remote Federal Penal Colony located deep in a forest about 1,500 miles northeast of Moscow. The few people who ever left it alive called it a living hell.

The silent one sat stony faced.

Kurashiki continued in English, Perhaps Ms Tish can tell us what to do, he said with a cozy smile. He winked at the stony faced one.

Joni had worked undercover for the CIA in London for eight years. As far as anyone knew, she was a high priced escort for anyone who could pay £7,500 pounds sterling ($9,700) for an evening, without extras. Most people thought she was British, because she spoke with no accent.

She said demurely, I’m sure the Prime Minister doesn’t need me to tell him that Mr Putenkov has his eyes on Estonia and Latvia next. She smiled at Kurashiki, and then she held out her hand to the stony faced one. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Joni Tish.

He didn’t move or change his expression.

The dinner lasted another hour. Afterwards, she and Lord Bennington went out to his Rolls Royce, where Harold, his chauffer, was waiting. We’ll take Ms Tish home first, Harold.

Certainly, Sir.

On the way to her Mayfair flat, she could see that he was troubled. Is there something that I can do, Alfred?

No. I just wish I knew what they were talking about back there.

She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him that she spoke Russian, but over the years she had gained a lot of intelligence by people thinking she was an airhead. She felt her phone vibrate in her purse, but she ignored it.

When she got back to her flat, she checked a message that simply read: It’s snowing on Mount Rushmore.

Joni Michelle Tish was working on her PhD in Foreign Relations at Georgetown University when the CIA came to recruit her. She laughed at the recruiter, because she had inherited power, position, and wealth from her adopted father. Her net worth was well over $180 million dollars. She owned parts of several UK, French, and US companies, and she sat on the board of banks and real estate firms in all three countries. She had a sprawling mansion in Southampton on Long Island, New York, a condo on Central Park, another condo in Washington, DC, and a flat in the Mayfair District of London.

Do you know who I am? she asked the recruiter.

The recruiter, Patricia Clarke, was the deputy director of central intelligence for domestic liaison. We know exactly who you are Ms Tish, or should I say Lorna Smith? We know your father abused you when you were a child—

"He was not my father when he did that?"

Did that make it any easier? You were nine years old, and it continued for years.

Joni looked off toward a corner of the room; tears filled her eyes. When she collected herself, she asked softly, How did you find out?

Mary Smith, your mother, is one of our... guests in a federal prison. We were able to find her from the adoption papers. She told us all about you."

"How could she tell you anything about me?! She sold me to him for $25,000 dollars and then left! I didn’t even know she was still alive."

Would you like to see her?

No! As bad as it was at the time, he was the only parent that I ever knew, and I know he loved me—truly loved me after I became his adopted daughter.

When did the molestation end?

Joni took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mother worked on his estate as a maid. His daughter, Emily, and I were the same age. We played together and were like sisters. Her mother was killed in a car accident when she was seven. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. I think he wanted to have sex with his daughter, but he loved her too much to hurt her, so he bought me and used me.

Did Emily know what he was doing to you?

I don’t think so. When a boiler blew up at school and Emily was the only one killed, he was convinced that God was punishing him for what he was doing to me, so he stopped. He became very religious and tried to make up for his sins. He asked me to become his daughter. I was 13. I don’t know what would have happened to me if he had not adopted me.

She looked down at her hands and shook her head slightly. "He loved Joni Michell’s music, so when he adopted me, he changed my name to Joni Michelle Tish. From that day onward, I was his daughter in every respect, and he never did anything that would hurt me again."

Did he ever apologize for raping you?

No, but I know he regretted it, and he was sorry he’d done it.

Do you know who your real father is?

No. And Mother didn’t either. It was probably someone she was cleaning house for. I was six or seven when she got the job at the Tish house. At first it was like being in play heaven, because Emily had every toy there was, and there was a swimming pool, a tennis court, and the beach. It was really fun living there.

Did you grow to love him after he adopted you?

"Yes. Very deeply. He loved me and cared for me—sent me to the best schools. He took me everywhere—to the pyramids in Egypt, the Eiffel Tower, the Tower of Tokyo, the Great Wall of China—everywhere. When the North Tower collapsed that horrible day, my world came crashing down with it. Tears gushed from her eyes; she didn’t bother to wipe them away. He left his entire fortune to me.

Do you still miss him?

Like half of my heart is gone. I think the reason I’ve never been serious about any man was because no one measured up to him.

"Now you know why we’re here to recruit you. We can never allow terrorists or anyone else to hurt our country like they did on 9/11."

How can I stop them?

"We have agents are all over the world listening. Our agents have foiled so many plots—hundreds of plots to harm our country. Why do you think there has never been another successful attack like 9/11? It’s because we are not going to let it happen again, and we need people like you to prevent it."

Why me?

You have a Bachelor’s Degree in English Literature from Barnard College, a Master’s Degree in Corporate Finance from the Wharton Business School at the University of Pennsylvania, and you’re working on your PhD in Foreign Relations here at Georgetown. You will be able to converse with anyone on this planet. Even more importantly, you’re fluent in French, Japanese, and Russian. It’s the Russian that we’re most interested in, because we want you to go undercover in London.

I own a flat in Mayfair.

We know you do. We want you to set up shop as a high-priced escort.

"Sell my body?! Are you insane? I’m rich! Why would I do something so... stupid for the CIA?"

Not for the CIA; for your country. Do you know a better way to meet high government officials of all stripes?

What would I have to do?

Are you aware that important men pay thousands of dollars to have beautiful women escort them to important dinners and other functions?

I really never thought about it. I go to plenty of those dinners on my own.

We know you do. We also know that a woman as beautiful as you are can accomplish what we need. I know you don’t need money, but the Firm will let you keep everything you make in your... job. By the way, can you read and write Russian as well as you speak it?

Yes, I’m fluent in all of my languages. Japanese was the most difficult for obvious reasons, but the Eastern Slavic language spoken in Russia was almost as difficult, but once you get the hang of it, it’s not so bad.

When Joni finished her PhD work at Georgetown, she went into training for six months with the FBI and the CIA about how to interview people without them knowing, and how to gain their confidence, so they would be inclined to talk. Once her training was over, she was posted to London. Over the next several years, she identified 23 Russian spies working in the British government and military, or in NATO postings in Great Britain.

When Lord Bennington’s dropped her off at her flat, she went into a secret room behind a large closet. There she sat down at satellite communications equipment and made contact with CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. This is Violet. I have a message from Mount Rushmore.

Just a minute. Yes, here it is. The message reads: ‘Drop everything and come home on the next flight,’ end of message.

What’s it all about?

You have your instructions. He hung up.

That’s strange. I guess I should use my plane.

Joni had a Cessna Citation III, private jet waiting for her at the London City Airport. She packed one piece of luggage, and took a taxi out to the airport and boarded her private jet. She was a licensed multiengine jet pilot, but she didn’t want to fly that far over water alone. Instead, she had her pilot Matthew Barnes fly the plane.

During the flight, she called ahead and arranged hangar space at Potomac Airfield. They landed there after midnight. She rented a car and drove it to her condo in Washington, DC.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Joni caught a taxi to CIA Headquarters. When she arrived, she was told to report to the Deputy Director of Operations.

Joni had never been to the Seventh Floor where the big wigs had their offices. She got off of the elevator, and a young man was waiting for her. Ms Tish?

Yes.

Come with me.

She followed him down a long hallway passed a series of doors with Director this and Director that on them until the man stopped outside the door of Deputy Director of Operations. He opened it and they went in. It was the outer office where he and two women worked.

He went to his desk and pressed the intercom, Ms Tish to see you, Deputy Director.

Bring her in, a woman’s voice said.

He knocked softly on the door of her office and then went in.

The same woman who recruited her years earlier looked up and smiled. Bring us some coffee, James. Thank you.

Patricia Clarke was five-feet 10-inches in stocking feet, so she was well over six feet in heels when she stood up. Do you remember me?

Yes. It looks like you’ve been promoted.

Well, I’m still Deputy Director, but operations is a little more exciting than domestic liaison.

James came in with coffee and Danish sweets rolls on a tray.

Put them on the conference table, James. Thank you. I’m not to be disturbed.

Yes, Ma’am.

Clarke went to a large leather chair at the head of the long table that could seat 10 people. Joni sat down on her right. She took the coffee pot and filled two cups and handed one to Clarke. Are you Mount Rushmore?

It’s one of the code names I use.

Clarke pushed her chair back and removed one of her high heels and adjusted the strap and then put it back on. New shoes and I’m still getting used to them.

She brought her chair back to the table. Is there anything happening in London that would prevent you from taking another assignment here in Washington, immediately?

I have appointments line up for the next couple of weeks. I think I’m doing well in London. I’d hate have to come back here unless it’s really important.

Joni, we have a big problem that I think you can help us with. What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room. Understood?

Of course.

Clarke seemed to be searching for the right words to use. In the process, she brought her hands up to her lips almost as if she were praying. I don’t know how much our recent presidential campaign and election made the news in the UK—

It was well covered and frankly embarrassing to me, especially the statements about NATO, and our allies. It didn’t go over well in the UK.

Good. Then you’ll understand why we’re taking these extreme measures. Recently President Surd had a meeting in the Oval Office with the Russian Foreign Minister and the Russian Ambassador to the US. During that meeting he bragged to the Russians about how good our spy service was. He actually told them that an ally had warned us about a plot to put bombs in laptops and tablet computers to blow up airplanes. He told them that one of this ally’s spies had learned the information directly from ISIL in Aleppo.

She shook her head. He apparently didn’t realize that the Russians could easily determine the information came from Israel. Did you hear anything about it in London?

It was widely covered in the UK, but the Brits already knew they couldn’t trust President Surd with secret information. How did the Israelis react?

Their public reaction was muted, but Mossad sent us... I’ll read you what they said. She got up and opened a wall safe located behind a swing-away picture. She took out a letter and came back. "I quote, ‘Recent Top Secret information revealed to the Russians by your President is cause for great concern. We have had to extract three of our top agents who spent years infiltrating ISIL and the Syrian government. Unless and until your side can get control of the gentleman in the White House, information obtained by Mossad and other sources available to us will not be shared